


Music To Drown By

by Teabag_Hag



Category: Tales of Arcadia (Cartoons), Trollhunters - Daniel Kraus & Guillermo del Toro
Genre: F/M, Primarily StrickLake pov cuz that's the only frequency my brain operates on, Soft J/C also tho, ch1 is mostly J/C, he's a dumdum but i love him for it, it's become more abt paternal strick/jim so i guess burgeoning knife family is the better tag here, mostly I just adore Walter I-wont-catch-found-family-feelings Strickler
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:54:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27707234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teabag_Hag/pseuds/Teabag_Hag
Summary: Canon AU fic that takes place sometime between & during the events of s01 ep.25 A Night To Remember and ep.26 Something Rotton This Way Comes.How did Jim get Barbara to the hospital? How did Claire, Toby and Jim all get back inside Trollmarket without Claire's shadow staff or a horngazal? Did Walter know about Jim’s decision to break his promise to his mom and keep her in the dark about his Trollhunter life?A fic that attempts to answer these questions and more....
Relationships: Barbara Lake/Walter Strickler | Stricklander, Jim Lake Jr./Claire Nuñez
Comments: 20
Kudos: 30





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A soft AU. I really only change 2 things in canon here which is 1) Walter’s car lives and doesn’t go over a cliff like a bad mythbusters experiment and 2) Barb gets to the hospital AFTER Jim dances with Claire, rather than before.
> 
> Mostly I wrote this for practice and definitely not to procrastinate from the 6 other unfinished stricklake fics I got going, no siree.

“He has it!” Claire cried. 

Jim's hands tightened on her shoulders in response to her sharp and sudden panic, "Claire! Angor Rot has what?!"

“He has the key to Trollmarket!”

The crisp, star-filled spring air, moments earlier, refreshing, sweet and full of promise, suddenly tickled up the girl’s spine with a foreboding shiver, now too cold and unfriendly.

“Okay. Okayokay,” Jim snapped his fingers. “Tobes! We gotta get Toby and get back to Trollmarket – he’s still at the school, at the Spring Fling dance, right?”

Jim was already moving quickly across the smooth, packed-dirt ground of the scenic outlook where they’d parked. The blue of his jacket momentarily glowed bright cobalt against the night as he crossed in front of the beam of the headlight of his Vespa. He reached for their helmets, handing Claire the blue one he’d picked out just for her to match the coloured streak in her hair. 

Claire took it from him, “Yeah, I’m texting T.P. now so he’ll be waiting and ready to meet us out front." She hesitated, looking away from her phone to gaze back at her date, “Jim...,” her expression twisted with a mix of guilt and anxiety. He’d trusted her and she felt like she’d let him down big.

Jim, noting her tone, immediately stopped what he was doing and reached over to squeeze her hand. “It’s okay,” he said, gently gripping her shoulder with his other hand, “it’s _okay_ Claire, we got this, it’s going to be fine.”

The clips in Claire’s hair glinted in the low light as she bobbed her head in a nod. Reassured but not entirely relieved of her guilt she put on her helmet then climbed onto the powder blue Vespa behind Jim.

The two tore off into the night, back towards the direction of the school. 

Icy night air snatched at their clothes as they picked up speed. Arms around his waist, Claire tucked her face closer to the comforting warm of Jim’s back, scrunching her eyes shut. 

_The trolls_ , she thought, _Blinky, AAARRRGGHH!!!, Draal._ Even NotEnrique was down in Trollmarket right now. _If anything happens to any of them because of me..._ , her arms squeezed more tightly around Jim’s middle.

There was another, smaller, pang of regret buried deeper beneath her fear for the well being of their non-human friends, one she quashed down with a a different kind of guilt. _Bigger, more important problems, Claire._ But... still, after everything, trollish wars, kidnapped siblings, would be assassins... she was still a teenage girl. Surely, after everything, she was allowed to feel a little remorse for the loss of... well....

Jim’s hands warm in hers, a pleasant contrast against the cool night air. The sweet notes of, ‘Eres tú’ falling among the flora of the outlook, Jim humming along softly under breath. The yellow-gold cityscape glowed and sparkled, stretched out behind them as they danced. Her heart beat quick in her chest. Their faces drew towards one another....

Claire’s face burned bright on the back of the Vespa as she willed herself not to be overly self-conscious of her hands around Jim's waist.

They had been so perfect, those too few minutes where they were allowed to be nothing more than two teens stumbling against first love. A little bit clumsy; a larger bit sweet. Normal. And cut short, thanks to her. At least that’s how she felt.

“Um...” Her voice wavered and she stopped short.

Eyes not leaving the road, Jim’s head turned slightly, indicating that he was listening.

Claire cleared her throat and tried again, “Um, I’m sorry, that our dance was... _cut short_ ,” she said to Jim from over his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. It was nice -I mean- better than nice! And I’m, I’m sorry it ended... if I hadn’t lost the horngazel-”

“Yeah it’s a real tragedy,” Jim called back cutting short her declarations of guilt.

Claire's stomach sunk with hurt at his notably sarcastic tone. 

“-that we’ll just have to reschedule for some other time, to make up for it. Such a burden, more future dancing with you. Much woe," he said, his voice lightly teasing. 

_Oh!_

It was all very smoothly said but the light of a passing streetlamp betrayed how very pink the shell of Jim's one ear was under his helmet.

Claire couldn’t help the grin on her face, “‘ _Woe_ ’, Romeo?”

“Mmm, great woe,” Jim cleared his throat a little awkwardly, “that is, I mean, only if you want to of course-”

“Yes! I mean, I'd like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Twin blushing, crescent smiles split the night.

Half way down the hill from the outlook Claire’s phone chimed. “Toby’s meeting us at the canal,” she said, after glancing at her phone’s screen. 

Jim course corrected for the new destination, bypassing the school entirely, “Got it.”

Claire’s phone chimed again. The second message read, ‘ _GTB!!!!!!_ ’, followed by a bicycle emoji, 3 fire emojis, 2 crying face emojis, a single praying hands emoji and lastly 3 police car emojis. 

“I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I think Toby may have stolen someone’s bike off the rack at school,” Claire said over Jim’s shoulder.

With her arms around his middle and the wind snatching away most of the sound, she felt more than heard Jim’s startled laugh.

A few minutes later and the canal bridge loomed into view. It’s outline was cast from a mix of yellow streetlamp and silver-y, blue moon light, it’s solid form boldly contrasting against the dark velvet of the night sky. Jim steered his Vespa momentarily away from it, first angling the scooter down the concrete slope of the canal before then turning back around towards the inky underside of the bridge.

Toby was already there waiting, red faced and panting from his hurried bike ride over. The bike in question was a cheerful, little lime green number, plastered in glow-in-the-dark U.F.O. and, 'I WANT 2 BELIEVE', stickers and toting both a basket and a petite, custom novelty plate that read, 'PPRJK'.

“Ohmygosh, Ohmygosh,” the boy gasped between panting breaths, eyes wide, braces flashing in the dark as he spoke, “what’s happening?! Ohmygosh, did Angor follow you, is he chasing us again?!”

“The key!” Claire cried to Toby from the back of the Vespa as Jim skid to a halt a few feet from their friend. “My purse! When we were on the school roof T.P.! I couldn’t figure out why Angor would take my purse and let us go like that -the horngazel was in there!” 

Toby’s eye’s went saucer wide with understanding, “Oooohmygosh, okaaay, well we gotta warn everyone then!”

“But how?!” Jim said, accepting Claire’s helmet from her and hurrying to clip it to the Vespa's handlebars. “None of us have a spare key, and Claire, you threw your shadow staff through a portal with the counter spell for my mom, it’s still in Vendel’s workshop in the Heartstone with her! And I didn’t think to bring it with me when I left to see you, I'm sorry! Ahrg, I thought- I thought we had time-.”

Claire gasped, cutting him off, “Jim! Your mom!”

“I know,” Jim moaned. He went to clutch at his hair, realized that he was still wearing his own helmet and made to unbuckle it instead. “She’s still down in Trollmarket, and if Angor’s coming here she’ll be his first target! We have to-.”

“No! Jim!” Claire reiterated, cutting him off, “Your mom! She’s still down there- does she have her phone on her? You asked Blinky to look after her before you left, right? Maybe if you call her phone he’ll answer it!”

Oh, he could kiss her, she was so smart. Oh, but..., “I’m not sure if she actually has it on her, we left the house in a bit of a, ah,” Jim’s eye’s flicked away as he recalled Angor’s magical, fiery munitions bombarding their car as he fled the Lake residency with his mom and Strickler, "er, a _rush_ -but it’s worth a shot!”

Whipping out his phone, Jim punched call on ‘MOM’ and waited while it rang. 

The three teens clustered tightly together, the shadows seeming to loom larger, darker, the silence of the night made more ominous by their collective anticipation of Angor’s arrival. Stood as they were, the three were protected only by the dark of the bridge suspended over them, which didn't count for much when one's enemies had keen, predatory night vision. Jim still had his amulet but his bestfriend and girlfriend were essentially sitting ducks in the open of the canal. It was anyone’s guess when the assassin would attack.

The ringing cut to voicemail. Jim hastily swiped over the red, ‘end-call’ button then, hit redial. If his mom’s phone _was_ on her, knowing Blinky, he was probably stood over it having some kind of conniption over what human social etiquette precisely demanded in regards to answering an unconscious woman’s phone. It might take Jim a few tries before his troll mentor relented and picked up.

The line cut to voicemail again. Jim looked worriedly to the others, his friends still carefully keeping look-out on the surrounding shadows. 

A twig snapped somewhere above them.

“Come on, come on...,” Jim muttered anxiously under his breath.

“Oh! Oh! Jimbo! Your mom’s not the only one still down there!” Toby whispered emphatically as Jim hit, 'call' for a third time. “Strickler’s still down there too! Does he have his phone on him?! If you can’t reach Doctor L, maybe he can get someone to let us in!”

Jim hesitated a second, the line for his mom’s cell still ringing unanswered in his ear, unsure of the suggestion. It was one thing for Strickler to approach him when his own, changeling hide was on the line, but would his old teacher return the favour?

Jim tried to imagine asking Strickler if he even knew the meaning of the word, ‘altruism’. He could almost hear the exact pompous, dry snort the man would proffer in response. 

“You really think he’d help?” Jim asked skeptically. “Don’t you think he’ll just figure a way to escape then run off as soon as he hears Angor’s coming?” _He’ll save his own skin and his own only_ , Jim thought bitterly.

Toby snorted and rolled his eyes, “ _No._ ”

Jim blinked in surprise, taken aback, “Wait, really?”

“ _Duh-doy._ It’s like Claire said, your mom’s still down there Jim. Just tell him Doctor L’s life is in danger or something, we all know there’s _one_ sure thing that motivates that dude.”

Jim grimaced, “Ew, gross Tobes!”

“What?! You know I’m right, Jimbo!”

Jim looked to Claire for support. She tried for a gentle smile but the expression came across as more of a wince. Shrugging apologetically, she tilted her head back and forth in a gesture of, ‘ _Wellllllll... he’s kind of right...._ ’

Jim made another face of mild disgust but said nothing, knowing full well that the two of them were right but refusing to force himself to voice such aloud. 

Another twig snapped somewhere from within the dense brush lining the canal, only this time closer, louder. The tableau of teens froze, eye's wide in the dark, humorous mood abating.

The amulet thrummed in Jim's pocket in response to his speeding heart but he willed it to stay put, not wanting to draw further attention to their position by donning the fluorescent armour unless necessary.

The Trollhunter didn't expect Angor Rot to make an appearance so quickly. In the majority of the encounter's he'd had with the assassin so far, the troll had been aided by golem magic. Strategically, there was no way the assassin would plan a siege upon the market _without_ it's assistance again. Meaning, they had time while Angor prepared. But Angor also knew that Jim knew this which also made Jim believe that a sooner, surprise attack intended to throw him off wasn't out of the question...

Uhg. He was starting to sound like Strickler.

Barbara Lake's number hit voicemail again and the Trollhunter sighed in defeat. “Alright, I guess we don’t have much choice....”

“Wait, do you even have Strickler’s number?” Toby asked, hushed.

“Uhg. Yeah, remember? He gave it to me ages ago under the pretense that he wanted to _‘speak’_ to my mom about my grades,” Jim said, grudgingly pulling it up form his contacts list as he spoke.

Toby snorted again, “Smooooth.”

Jim shot Toby another look of disgust and Toby bit down on his lips, poorly repressing more laughter.

It was true, he couldn’t be sure of Strickler’s motivations _except_ when it came to one single person. _-Uhg.-_ If he didn’t pick up, Jim would start texting the changeling as fast as he could. And as Toby so _helpfully_ pointed out, he knew the exact words that would be most effective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eli's the only player baller enough to roll up to Spring Fling on a glow-in-the-dark bike , dressed in his '80's attire, popped collar and Ray-Ban's on at night, amirite.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meanwhile in the Stronghold...
> 
> *pinching my fingers together* it’s about, the p i n i n g

Walter Strickler was currently suspended in a cage, one among a dozen or so others that hung in the cave that was the trollish underground, prison. Trussed up like the figurative canary in the coal mine, he'd been swiftly locked away in the Stronghold, his mere changeling presence an unsightly portent of doom to the denizens of Trollmarket.

Around him the damp ambient sounds of the underground cavern echoed dully. The occasional drip of a stalactite. An intermittent trickle of shifting grit or falling gravel. The soft scrape of his troll guard attempting to further cram it's stone finger up its nostril. In the distance, if he concentrated, Walter could even hear the faint sounds of the market life.

The guard gave up on it's spelunking expeditions in favour of breaking wind. _Ah yes, the methane gas come to silence the canary. Splendid._

Company aside, as far as confinements went this wasn’t nearly the worst thing Walter had ever encountered. The air was cold and damp but not completely without light, each cage illuminated by a single, glowing, violet crystal cluster. And, at the least, suspended in the air as he was, he was kept away from the brutish and decidedly -though unsurprisingly- changeling intolerant riffraff of Trollmarket. Walter Strickler might be caged _in_ but so was everyone else caged _out_.

No, comparatively, his immediate surroundings weren't completely abhorrent. After all, what was this when one had been raised in the Darklands; spent centuries on the razors edge of existence, lurking in the shadow of Gunmar The Black and his idiot whelp Bular. A walk in the park, really.

No, the great misery here now was the one that lay behind Walter's own eyelids.

Laying on his back he gazed unseeingly at the flat, rusted bars above him. Fatigue heavy eyes blinked shut and immediately upon his mind’s eye, furious lapis scowled then turned away from him.

Walter flinched; forced his eyes back open. His neck twinged at the sudden jolt and a soft hiss escaped from between his teeth.

On top of having barely survived the most recent less than cordial tête-à-tête with Angor Rot, the result of which was his one arm now in a sling, the counter spell he'd helped perform earlier, that had served to severe the binding spell between himself and Barbara Lake, had walloped them both physically. He ached, _everywhere._ The metal bars digging into his spine now were doing no additional favours for his already throbbing neck and shoulder.

The changeling's eyes once more slide shut of their own accord and the furious lapis returned. _She couldn't even look at me._

Again he wrenched his eyes back open, blinking madly in the dim light.

Something frightening and foreign was aching within his sternum. Walter rubbed the palm of his good hand over the center of his chest as if he could worry the feeling away.

_‘You’re the one thing I’m looking forward to forgetting.’_

The feeling worsened.

He rolled away from the vision and on to his side, adjusting his position for a millionth time. Desperate for some kind of rest, the changeling closed his eyes, this time trying to forcibly will his mind to be silent.

_Barbara cried out in pain, tears beading at the corners of her eyes, the red of her hair made fire, awash in the citrine glow of Heartstone._

Then again, why sleep when the bland stone wall directly across from his cage made for such interesting viewing anyways?! Strickler grimaced. Wearily, he pressed the fingers of his good hand into his eyelids, then kneaded at his brow and the bridge of his nose.

It had been nothing more than a simple diversion tactic at first. How easy it had been, to keep Jim’s attentions away from Killahead by simply approaching the fledgling Trollhunter’s mother.

Quickly, it became a pretense of convenience. Continuing to string Barbara Lake along kept his options open, at least that’s what he’d told himself. It had worked to distract Jim so well the first time, after all, why not a second or third?

It hadn’t hurt either, that she’d made it so... _easy_ , for him. Doctor Lake was interesting, charming, it wasn’t a great labour for the changeling, stringing her along.

Then very suddenly, his schedule was revolving _around_ her. He wasn’t just looking forward to, but secretly prioritizing, these little bubbles of time with Barbara that were just... just _his_. Time spent that didn’t belong to Bular or to the Janus Order, but to Walter.

He'd known for a while, that he'd become overly... _attached,_ to the human woman... but this was... this was....

Yes, Barbara Lake was charming, intelligent, not to mention devilishly witty at times. _Endearing._ He'd seen in her a kindred spirit, a similar creature fighting to thrive in chaos... a bit frayed around the edges but resilient, bright eyed. Made more endearing for her resilience. And of course Barbara was, she was physically, rather, aesthetically... pleasing... elegant... _beautiful..._

- _Fond!_ It was a fondness that he felt and nothing more acute, _surely_.... 

Metal bars pinched at his ribs as Walter furiously scrubbed his hand over his face. _You idiot._

The changeling didn’t -hadn’t- understood what was happening to him... Centuries spent casually using humans to further Gumm-Gumm agendas, lying, manipulating and eventually abandoning them... And suddenly the thought of doing the same to this one, single woman... made him feel nervous, _sickly_ even. What was wrong with him?!

... Janus help him, he knew, he knew, _he knew_ what was wrong.

He'd named the... the... _feeling_ , aloud to Jim earlier, before the ritual to break the binding spell. Or at last, had tried to, had come close to it. He'd thought, perhaps foolishly, that naming the tender, surprising, thing in his chest aloud would have somehow, to a degree, exorcised himself of it's accompanying guilt....

A sigh escaped his lips as he rolled back over on to his back.

Kissing. Kissing had been a recent development. Kissing Barbara Lake had felt like... Like winning. Like _Yes_ and _More_. Changeling’s never got to win, they never got more.

There had been one particular coffee date, a secretly favoured memory. The doctor had almost cancelled on him, calling to apologize, explaining that she’d had to get her work scheduling sorted for the next month. “Bring it with you!” he’d blurted, feeling strangely desperate. And so she had. They’d sat at the café patio table and barely spoke more than a few words to one another for the entire duration of their date. Walter graded exams and Barbara worked on her shift schedule, and they quietly held each other's hand. He’d rubbed his thumb over her knuckles, sneaking peeks at her while they worked. He hadn’t known before, that you could just... just enjoy someone’s _presence_ like that.

Holding his one good hand out in front of himself now, he clenched and unclenched his fist, the memory of Barbara's hand now tactile in his own. The skin looked pale and sickly under the lavender, crystal light. He rubbed the pad of his thumb over his fingertips; kneaded fingertips into the flesh of his palm.

Jim was going to free the familiars now. Or at least try to. After centuries of use, it appeared that his time in this soft, borrowed body was suddenly running out.

Walter's jaw twinged and he realized that he was clenching his teeth; forced himself to stop.

Admittedly, the theft of the Inferna Copula had not been a thing that Strickler had fully concerned himself with as possible. He still wasn’t sure how Jim had managed to pull it off. Begrudgingly, Walter conceded that he was impressed. Something almost akin to pride, [which Walter carefully did _not_ examine more closely], stirred within him for his past pupil. Even if Jim had almost gotten him murdered.

It was luck, nothing more. The child was going to get himself killed eventually. [Another twinge he did not examine.] Mothers; children; war was not discriminatory. Walter was long past old enough to know this, but the children, _the ‘Trollhunters’_ , didn’t comprehend. No, it was all fun and games; magic swords and daring quests. Never mind the centuries his kind had spent crawling through frozen mud and kin's blood.

 _Perhaps,_ he though to himself, _there’s still a possibility of stopping him... the Trollhunter still requires the last Triumbric Stone after all... still doesn’t know how close it really is..._

Maybe he could still salvage this. Slink away with the Eye. Without it, Jim would surely fail to free the familiars and Walter could keep his place in the sun a little longer. And if Young Atlas managed to rid the world of Angor Rot he could possibly toehold his way back into the Janus Order... regain control. And Barbara... she... she didn’t remember now... his sins erased by the counter spell... Maybe... maybe they could start again...

_Barbara clutched at the honey calcite crystal in Vendel’s hands, her arm held out awkwardly, determined to keep her face turned entirely away from him. She grit her teeth, spine arching, as another wave of pain washed over her._

The changeling’s hand dropped to clutch at the fabric of his turtleneck. The ache in Walter’s chest had turned into a frantic, nauseating, clawing against his ribs.

Under breath, he cursed into the dark. No... he couldn't do that... couldn’t even stomach the passing thought of it.

Forcing his brain away from softer torments he replayed the earlier events of the last 24 hours. The terrifying exit from the dentist. Angor's violent attempts to bestow Walter's vehicle with a complimentary, new sunroof. Losing the troll down a side road, slamming on the breaks and launching the ghoulish assassin from the roof of his car and into the dark, backwoods brush before furiously lead-footing it to the Lake residency and pleading for Jim’s help.

After surviving a long night spent in nerve-wracking vigilance, they’d stiffly awoken to the sun and an Icarus-esque confidence, believing they could catch the assassin on home turf... everything had gone so awry...

She’d taken the sight of his first self in... relative stride. Fortunate, as in the moment, he couldn’t help himself. One look at Angor rising over Barbara and the claws and horns and teeth had _lurched_ out of him. Much good that it’d done...

 _The vehicle shook with the impact of Angor Rot's violent, spelled, propellants, Walter's teeth clacking together as the car lurched, fish-tailing back and forth. Hand clamped over his neck, his vision wavering dangerously. In the rear-view mirror Barbara's reflection, shaky from the turbulence, stared accusingly back at him. Her eyes had been_ so _blue, even in the dark interior of the car. Lapis. No, something harder. Topaz, Swiss, frightened and furious. Her one hand clutching at the mirrored, supernatural, gash on her throat, the other at her son's armoured arm._

The sickly feeling in the center of Walter’s chest writhed again. Buzzing angrily... only this time slightly lower? And to the left. What?- _oh._ His phone?

The device buzzed again from the interior breast pocket of his blazer; a sudden irritant that slid his sentiments from regretful into sullen. He ignored it, muting the call without looking at the screen. Whoever it was it could sod _right off_ , he’d enough on his plate for one evening, thank you.

A sparse few seconds of silence, then, the phone buzzed angrily once more.

A glance this time. 

_‘Unknown number.’_

Walter muted it again.

 _Bloody telemarketers_. Naturally, even being miles below the earth in a magical trollish village couldn’t stop a determined sales rep.

His phone buzzed again.

Walter frowned, this time in confusion. Who on earth could possibly be trying so desperately to contact him? Janis had delightedly washed their clawed hands of him; none of the school faculty would dare at this hour...

The buzzing ended before he could answer.

Device still in hand, a string of text messages suddenly appeared before his eyes, the too bright light of the message screen blinding him momentarily.

Blinking furiously, and with an imminent migraine threatening, Walter stared at the text; a short mix of loud consonants with a youth-distinctive lack of vowels.

He was definitely _seeing_ words but, tragically, owing to fatigue, his brain seemed not quite yet up to _comprehending_ them.

Strickler the teacher, had had many a minutes stolen from him, held hostage to the complaints of the other school faculty as they loudly lamented the ‘indecipherable’ text-chat language of the contemporary generation of children. Stricklander the changeling spy, who’d spent a large portion of the early-mid 1940’s translating Janus instructions, originating in varying trollish dialects, into English, Italian, German and French, and then again into multiple Morse and cypher codes, frankly didn’t bat an eye when confronted nearly 80 years later by a mere lack of vowels. None the less he had pretended to nod sympathetically over the rapidly chilling swill they’d had the audacity to call, ‘coffee’ in the teacher's lounge anyways. All for the sake of preserving his cover. And perhaps a smidgen for the feeling of superiority over the other faculty it burgeoned. But only a smidgen, of course.

The words were finally registering in his pain-fatigued brain.

> ‘SOS. MOM NT SFE IN TM. ANGOR O/W WTH KEY. STCK OUTSD. GET BLNKY NOW.’

'Mom'?... Jim? ‘Unknown number’ was Atlas? Or...? A ruse, perhaps? Jim had left earlier to check on his friends...

‘MOM NT SFE IN TM.’

The memory of the Skathe-Hrün soaring through the air, plus a page from The Book of Ga-Huel but strangely sans the young Claire or Tobias.

Oh.

‘ANGOR O/W WTH KEY.’

_Oh._

**MOM NOT SAFE.**

Walter sat bolt upright.

He lurched to his feet, fumbled for a moment, juggling the phone in his only free hand and almost losing it between the gaps in the bars. The suspended cage swung erratically with his sudden movement, making him teeter precariously on his feet. Stumbling, he slammed bodily into the bars of the front of his cage, the impact reverberating up his last good elbow and into his teeth and skull. Another hiss of pain. Clutching at the grating, Walter shouted down at his guards between the bars, “Hey!”

The troll on guard growled but deigned to flick his eyes up in Walter’s direction.

“I require the presence of Blinkous Galadrigal! I have a message from the Trollhunter!!” Walter said imperiously.

“Yeah, sure, I have a message from the Trollhunter too, _Changeling scum_ ,” the guard said then made a very rude gesture up at Walter’s cage before resuming their post. The guard adjacent snickered.

“I mean it, I have a message from the Trollhunter, for Blinkous, bring him here immediately!”

A hefty rock bounced off the cage near his face, making Walter flinch back, “Keep it down _impure_ , no one has time for your lies.”

The interaction was about, what Walter had expected. _Time to skip over the guards entirely_ , he thought, and began shouting Galadrigal’s name in earnest, hoping anyone else would hear him.

“I SAID QUIET DOWN, IMPURE,” the first guard shouted, furious now. More stones and other rubbish began assailing his cage.

“Maybe the cur needs some help, closing his mouth,” laughed the second, smaller guard, eyeing the chains that suspended Walter’s prison.

“N-now see here! I have an agreement with the Trollhunter!”

The second guard disappeared from Walter's line of sight and the suspended cage suddenly dropped to the ground with a crash. The jarring impact sent Strickler sprawling, his teeth clacking together. The phone went flying from his hand, the device clattering through the bars. The screen splintered against the ground.

“Dammit, stop!" Walter yelled, his knees were singing, "Listen to me! I need to speak to Blinkous Galadrigal now!”

The shadows of the sneering trolls approached, looming over Walter's figure, now on the bottom of the cage. The cage that, previously, had been so kindly keeping the riffraff _from_ him, that now seemed to be rather... _open._

“N-now see here -The Trollhunter -Jim -he gave me his word -I have -I have proof -if you'd just-” The larger of the guards cut of the changeling’s plea by pointedly stepped on the remains of Strickler's phone, crushing the device to grit. Like a tremendous pestle, the troll swiveled it's stone foot into the ground for good measure.

Walter swallowed dryly.

“GALADRIGAL!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! This was a hard one to write, I'm almost done the remaining 3 chapters but had to come back and redo this one. Sorry it's not much action or conversation but I needed to establish Strickler's mindset before moving on. Learning a lot tho, comments appreciated!  
> \--  
> Edit: 4th time's the charm? 😭


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jim takes a leap of faith while Walter lurks dramatically in doorways.

Jim huffed anxiously, a spark of annoyance flaring in him as he took in the tiny, _'read'_ confirmation message under his text to his teacher. The man had not responded.

Claire, Toby and himself were still stuck under the bridge outside the secret entrance to Trollmarket with no horngazel, no shadow staff, and apparently no way to contact their friends below to warn them of Angor Rot's impending attack.

Jim sighed again, this time in fatigue. He’d thought... maybe... 

The fresh memory of Strickler hollering in pain, forcing himself to keep his hand on the orange crystal in Vendel's grip, determined to break the binding spell on his mother. As much as the thought repelled Jim, his teacher's proclaimed feelings for his mom had seemed... genuine. He'd thought, for a second, maybe he _could_ rely on Strickler... at least to a degree. Granted the man was locked up but still... he thought maybe... it wasn't hard to pick up a phone... at least for his mom’s sake...

 _Stupid. I don’t know what I expected._ Jim shook himself out of the thought. _'Focus on the fight at hand,'_ Blinky would say. He hit redial on his mother’s number once more.

“Sultan of Swagger speakin’,” answered a familiar, gravely voice.

“NotEnrique!” Jim exclaimed. _Oh thankgoodness she did have it on her_ , “-wait, what are you doing with my mom’s phone?!”

“Why if it isn’t Jim The Baby-Handed,” the changeling laughed, “Relaaaaaaaax kid, sleeping beauty here is fine -look-,” 

"No, no! Wait-," Jim said too late.

The muffled clattering sound of tiny stone fingers fumbling against the phone followed. A pause, then, Jim’s cell pinged a notification. With some trepidation Jim pulled the device away from his ear to look at the screen, Claire and Toby leaning in beside him. 

It was a selfie. Of NotEnrique. And his mom. The changeling’s diapered butt was laid out beside Barbara's unconscious and [blissfully] unaware form, one of his tiny green hands thrown up in a victory peace sign. NotEnrique’s tongue lolled out the side of a very toothy grin, his somewhat blurry face taking up the majority of the frame.

The Trollhunter took a very deep, but not very calming, breath. 

“Quit messing around,” Jim hissed, pressing the phone back to his ear with one hand and pinching his brow with the other. He’d have to remember to delete that off her phone later. 

“Listen, we’re in trouble, I need-”

“Ahw, kid, relaaaaaax, no trouble-,” NotEnrique went on.

“No, listen-” Jim tried to interject.

“-all’s well, the good Doc-” 

“Would you-”

“-might as well be snorin-”

“Listen, we need Blink-”

“-once the gnomes cleared off it was totally fi-”

 _“AngorRot’sonhiswayIneedyoutogetBlinkytoletusintoTrollmarketbecausewe’restuckoutside!”_

Jim took a giant breath in.

A pause.

“Well why didn’t you just say sooo?” NotEnrique groused. “Actually, I don’t know where old six-eye’s is right now –Think there was some kind of noise going on with the Doc’s _Mean Green Love Machine._ ”

Closing his eyes, Jim tilted his face skyward, his mind momentarily stepping away from his body, unwilling to even acknowledge having heard that last bit. 

Beside him, Toby, very certain he _had_ heard that last bit, made a dry, sputtered-cough sound, like a wheeze had tried to come out of his mouth but had been stopped short, aggressively crammed back down before his best friend hastily spun around to hide his face entirely.

Claire, biting down on her lips, blandly held out her hand to Jim who, still _elsewhere_ , wordlessly handed the phone over to her.

“NotEnrique, where’s Blinky?!” Claire demanded, hitting speaker so everyone could hear better.

“Oh hey Sponge-Face! The great blue thesaurus ain't here right now, ya just missed ‘im. Something about the old Bossman suddenly kicking up a fuss in the Stronghold; put me on Doctor-sittin’ duty he did.”

That caught Jim’s attention and pulled him back to earth. _He- it actually worked? Strickler actually..._

“NotEnrique, listen...,” Jim started once more.

\---

Walter was suspended midair. _Again_. This time upside-down. Each of his leg’s held in a different troll’s hands, poised like a man-sized wishbone ready to be cracked in two. 

_Which will it be_ , the changeling mused as his very red, very morose face swung back and forth. _The left leg? Or the right? Who’s wish will get granted? Certainly, not mine._

Somewhere in his periphery Galadrigal was still yelling; his tremendous, green turncoat Aarghaumont, beside him, growling at the trolls that held the changeling.

The combination of Walter’s shouting and the yelling of the aggravated guards had drawn a crowd. A crowd which had then grown into the very large mob of incensed trolls that gathered around him now, provoked by the changeling’s mere presence.

"-He's helping Gunmar!"

"-ly an impure would be stupid enough to raise Angor R-"

"-guilty! Kick him out!"

One of the heathens in the crowd was just chanting, "Fire!", over and over.

Ironically, the mob’s disruption of the market’s peace had finally gained Walter an audience with the Trollhunter’s four-armed trainer. Alas...

 _Six eyes, four arms, but only two ears and neither working_ , the changeling thought with disdain.

“You don’t understand, Jim’s outside, if you would just-” Walter tried for the umpteenth time, still swaying back and forth in the hands of the trolls.

“Quiet you!” Galadrigal cried dramatically over the din of the crowd. “I told you already, I’m not listening to anymore of your conniving, changeling machinations! We’re not letting you outside to cause more mayhem!”

“Not _me_ you blue dolt! _You_ , I want _you_ to go look, if you’d just-”

Galadrigal was speaking over him now, plainly ignoring Walter’s words entirely, instead addressing [or attempting to] the trolls holding him, “-let go this instant, the Trollhunter needs-”

The blood was rushing to Walter’s head, his temples throbbing in full migraine now, “Jim’s outside, he gave me his word, if you’d just go get-”

Walter would be dead before he voiced such a sentiment aloud, but he was saved, to his great relief, by the eventual appearance of none other than _NotEnrique._ The disgusting, diapered cretin that was his saving grace had come scuttling through the crowd, waving what Walter confusedly thought looked suspiciously like Barbara’s phone.

More yelling and confusion briefly ensued before the blue troll finally relented and sprinted up the great crystal stairs leading to the main entrance, leaving Aarghaumont to sort out the crowd. The blood pounding in Walter’s still upside-down head made following the yelling intolerable but he was saved from having to do so by the appearance of Jim. _Finally._

Walter was released. For ten whole seconds, that is, until the boy and his friends revealed to the crowd the loss of the horngazel and the expected attack of Angor Rot. The crowd rioted, aiming to permanently evict both the changeling and the Trollhunter from the market, until Vendel intervened.

And then the boy had rallied and Walter had been... taken aback.

Never had Strickler witnessed a human, let alone a _child_ , not only convince, but inspire, _lead_ , troll kind before. Yes, he'd seen and heard of how Jim had teamed up on various occasions with a trollish few... Galadrigal, Aarghaumont, that jagged, blue one Nomura had conned that had been present in Jim's house earlier... _Draal_. But Strickler's understanding had been that the Trollhunter had largely operated as a glorified guard-dog for the trolls. The changeling hadn't realized that the trolls were actually open to _listening_ to Jim's voice -a _human_ voice. The sight of it had... _unsettled_ , something inside of him.

To hope at Walter’s age, after the things he’d seen, things he’d done, was foolhardy at best. Blatantly stupid and suicidal at worst. Hope was akin to wishing upon stars in Walter’s world. One did not hope. One schemed. No, the changeling could not peg the thing he felt, looking upon the boy as he rallied the market denizens, as hope. But still... there was... _something_....

Eventually, the crowd dispersed, their irate energy redirected towards preparing the market for attack.

And just like that, Walter miraculously found himself rather forgotten. The Infallible Leader had disappeared with the other children, Galadrigal and Aarghaumont made busy with directing the crowds. Taking advantage, Walter promptly slipped into the shadows, well practiced at making himself invisible.

He wanted to leave, he ached from head to toe, wanted for nothing more than to curl up in the dark of his apartment and pass out from the combination of fatigue and misery. The message had been delivered. Jim was here now, Barbara would be safe. Surely this was the most that was expected of him? He’d slip away with the Eye, consider his options; Angor would be too busy to murder him, preoccupied a time here with the Trollhunter, it was a perfect.

Strickler slunk between stone and crystal outcroppings, inconspicuously weaving between the mishmash of trollish venues, scanning for a means of exit. The main stairs were too visible and required a horngazel... there had to be some other way. With wry amusement his eyes flicked to the sad, misshapen, remains of his car, still sat in the middle of the market in the pathetic heap where it had come to the end of it's life, done in by Angor Rot. _Option, 'C', then,_ he thought. He’d take even the sewers at this point, anything to get out of this wretched, neon hovel.

How ironic it was; what he previously wouldn’t have given for the chance to get even a toe in the doorway of the fabled Trollmarket. And now here he was, bathed in the glow of the great Heartstone no less, and wishing to be anywhere else.

He’d lost control over Angor. Lost control over Janus. And Barbara. Everything he’d feared for months had come to pass under a single hour -less so, even. Barbara had found out he had lied to her. Barbara had found out that he’d mystically bound her life to his. Barbara had found out, the hard way, that he wasn’t even human. And worst of all, Barbara had come to life-threatening harm, because of him. It was like some kind of cruel bucket-list the universe had gleefully plowed through in record time.

Walter closed his eyes a moment, his temples giving a particularly notable throb.

He’d murder for a cup of tea. Possibly literally.

He slipped into another glowing-geode free crevice. _Ooh, hello, is that a sign for a gyre station?_ Blessed Janus providing once more.

He made it almost thirty feet before the thought intruded.

_But what if..._

He hesitated mid-step.

_But what if you leave and something happens to her. Something happens and you weren’t here to try and stop it._

Walter paused a moment, then, shook himself. _Don’t be stupid Strickler, the exit’s right there._ Jim would handle it from here. After all, the children’s victory streak was obnoxiously long if anything.

He made it a further five steps then, again, hesitated.

_He’s only a child... a lucky one so far... but he can’t win every battle... what if..._

From the shadow of the recess that he hid, he stared intently in the direction that the sign pointed.

A heartbeat passed. Then another.

Walter grimaced, growled aloud, then angrily spun on his heel and went after Jim.

\---

The Trollhunters were gathered in Blinky’s study. To Jim’s delight, Chompsky was apparently alive and well. Slightly less to his delight was the message of promised _'ocean’s of blood'_ that the gnome had brought back with him but... Jim was quickly learning to pick his battles one at a time.

“It goes on for a while, you don’t need to listen to this,” said Toby.

“It’s like you said, we shouldn’t be focused on the fight tomorrow, but the fight today,” Claire spoke.

“It’s just too bad we’ve been wasting our time collecting stones to kill Gunmar and not Angor Rot,” Toby supplied.

“Or so you think,” a familiar voice called from behind them.

 _Strickler._ Jim rolled his eyes. Of course he was looming in the doorway listening. Idly Jim wondered if the changeling rehearsed dramatic entrances in his down time.

“Maybe you do have a stone -Angor’s eye,” Strickler went on, entering the study.

Oh. Jim turned to face the changeling. That was actually, helpful? “You’re saying I can use this in my amulet?” Jim said, holding up the jar that contained the animate obsidian and lemon orb in question.

“If cut with the proper guidance...” Strickler replied.

The trollhunter paused a moment, thinking the offer over. “Surprised you haven’t cut and run yet,” Jim spoke flatly.

Something tightened around the corners of Walter’s eyes, “Well, it’s not like I can simply waltz out the front door” Strickler replied, carefully bland.

Jim studied his past teacher then. Distantly he heard Toby excitedly exclaim something about ‘levelling up again’. _Why is he helping me..._ Jim wondered, suspicious. He had severe misgivings over the man’s presence let alone freely offered assistance. Then again... he had... he had actually tried to help him, knowingly at the expense of his own safety in the middle of the changeling unfriendly Trollmarket. Even if it wasn’t really for Jim’s benefit but rather for-

_Mom._

”Wait. There’s something we need to do first,” Jim said seriously, putting the jar with Angor’s eye back down on Blinky’s desk. He fidgeted a moment with the positioning of it, discretely buying himself a second to consider whether his next words were a good idea or really, really bad one.

_‘I’m doing this for her.’_

Jim turned from the desk and back to his friends.

“Claire?”

“Yeah?”

“I need you to take Strickler back to my house,” Jim said.

The young girls eyes flicked nervously between Jim and their past teacher. The fingers holding her shadow staff tightened almost imperceptively, but she nodded without question, trusting Jim, “Okay.”

“What’s this?” Strickler asked warily.

Jim’s shoulders straightened as he turned back to him. “You’re going back to mine. Claire is going to portal the two of you. You’re going to grab my mother’s car and drive it back here and then your going to drive my mother and us to the hospital where she’ll be safer from Angor Rot.” The Trollhunter’s voice brokered no nonsense. This wasn’t a request; Strickler owed him. Owed both Lakes.

Jim turned back to Claire, “Toby and I will continue preparing everyone here in the meantime until you get back.”

 _'Hospital’?_ Strickler’s spine stiffened with ice. “Why does Barbara need the hospital? I thought your _Vendel_ ,” he said, saying the name with snide, “said that everything was fine? That _she_ was fine,” a tremor of accusation wormed into his voice. He understood wanting to get her away from Angor but why to the hospital specifically?

Jim raised two placating hands, as if to physically stave Strickler's rising alarm, “ _Magically_ , yes, everything’s fine. The counter enchantment cast to break the binding spell worked fine. But, trolls aren’t great when it comes to _human_ healing. To be fair, they’ve never really had reason to be. So, I just want to have her checked out to be sure that she’s totally fine otherwise. Plus,” Jim looked down and away then, “I think it will be... easier, for her, if she’s somewhere familiar when she wakes since... since she wont remember. And I can't exactly take her to the house.”

Walter grimaced. _Right._ He nodded.

Jim’s eyes flicked back to him then down to his arm in the sling, the boy’s serious, too mature façade slipping, once more belaying his true age, “Can you, ah, drive okay? I mean, like that? Your arm?” He nervously ruffled the hair on the nape of his neck.

Walter’s smile, though tired and small, was genuine, “Without Angor on our heels this time? A breeze,” he said dryly, pretending to examine his nails for effect.

Some mixed feeling flitted over Jim’s face, his mouth twisting like he wanted to smile but was quashing it down, forcing himself not to. It was glimpsed for only a heartbeat however, just long enough to agitate something inside Walter, before the boy smoothly covered it under the pretense of turning back to face Miss Nuñez.

“You might have to er, portal straight into the house?” Jim said to Claire. “There’s ah, most definitely, sort of a huge broad-axe stuck in the door?” he said sounding a bit sheepish, “It got kind of crazy in there, so, it might be hard to open the front door.” His eye’s flicked to the left recalling his kitchen fridge soaring through the air. “Or the back one.”

Claire laughed lightly, “Noted.”

“Ah. They keys for your mother’s car are in her purse still, aren’t they?” Strickler said, wondering why it was they needed _inside_ the Lake residency for the car parked _outside_.

Jim, still visibly struggling with the prospect of being overly friendly with Strickler conceded to a middle ground by speaking to the space between Walter and Claire, rather than directly to his former teacher.

“Yeah, the black one, it was on the coat rack, that was tied to the rope that suspended the axe that-”

“-That ate the cat that ate the rat that booby trapped the house that Jim lived in – yes, yes I recall,” Walter said, impatiently cutting him off. “Alright, fine.”

Toby leaned over, war-hammer in hand, and rather conspicuously whispered into Claire’s ear, “You need back-up at Jimbo’s? You know, in case old Angor shows up again, orrrrr...,” his eye’s flicked pointedly to Strickler, “ _other_ trouble?” 

Walter didn’t think he had the energy left in him to roll his eye’s but Mr Domzalski was certainly determined to test his resolve on the matter.

Claire cocked a hip, “I can handle it.”

To this, Walter very carefully said nothing, electing instead to admire, perhaps too casually, a cluster of glowing amethyst protruding from the wall in the opposite direction. The changeling was already skating on treacherously thin ice in the Trollhunter’s book. It wouldn’t win him any points to disagree with the girl’s sentiment. The children had bravado, he’d give them that. And Jim had more than proved his gumption in the face of Angor’s wrath. But Walter feared that the children still didn’t fully grasp the dark depths of the waters they tread. A numerous worse things lurked in the night that they had yet to encounter. Things that wouldn’t hesitate, the way Walter had that dinner at Jim’s, to end the life of one child, no matter how brave she appeared.

It was moot point regardless, if the task was for Barbara’s sake than he wasn’t going to try anything anyways. Even if the Doctor, rightfully, hated him now....

The lavender light of the crystal he was staring at was imprinting on the back of his eyes, a bleary purple dot appearing every time he blinked. He scrunched them closed and rubbed his good hand over them, suddenly feeling very old.

“Besides,” Claire went on, a bitter edge in her voice, “we know Angor wont be there. He’ll be too busy preparing to come _here_.” She sighed, her mouth twisting down with guilt.

“Hey,” Jim said, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder, “you warned us all early enough that we have a tactical advantage. It’ll be okay.”

“Whenever you’re ready Miss Nuñez,” Walter said, turning back to the children.

The quicker to be away from this wretched market.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Abusing the italics, sorry/not sorry. 😗👉👈
> 
> Any feedback is much appreciated as I am very new to writing ~ thanks


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Got a problem? Throw goblins at it.

It was a quiet, normal evening in the cul-de-sac where Jim Lake jr’s home resided. The night was in full swing, the moon hanging heavily in the sky over the sleepy suburbs, casting the neighborhood in deep blue save for the yellow light of an occasional street lamp.

It was hard to tell in the peace now that only a few hours earlier the street had been in complete chaos, Jim, his mother and his erstwhile teacher, all fleeing his home from the trollish, grief-crazed assassin who’d been keen on murdering them all.

Only to a discerning eye, could one spot the evidence of violence. Fresh scorch marks still hidden in the dark green of the lawn. The telltale tire tracks from Strickler’s car in the road from when they’d fled at top speed.

The front door of the house, half blown off it's hinges.

One of the yellow street lamps flickered sadly, a small cloud of moths dancing in it’s light, flinging themselves bodily at the lamp’s luminous bulb.

In the pool of light it cast a sudden oddity appeared. A smoky black dot, no bigger than a dime, suspended midair about five feet off the pavement.

The dot quivered a second, pulsing, as if struggling, then suddenly blossomed rapidly into a large, perfect circle, it’s edges shifting into a deep, undulating purple.

The moth’s scattered.

Ink and violet washed over the changeling and the girl and together they stepped from the deep underground cavern and out onto the front lawn of the Lake house. The two stood tense and unspeaking, silhouetted by the street light. Behind them the shadowy portal vanished.

Despite the sleepy atmosphere of the street, the pair stood on high alert, back to back, carefully scanning the surrounding shadows for signs of Angor Rot.

At the mercy of her skills, as he was still rather one-armed and unable to shift into his more battle ready body, Strickler stuck close to his companion, Claire, who stood confidently beside him, her feet firmly planted, shadow staff poised in her hands. Together they listened intently for any sign of the assassin, but after a few taut moments nothing more than an occasional cricket revealed itself.

"Clear?" Strickler breathed carefully.

Claire nodded minutely, then softly, "Clear." She relaxed her stance.

Strickler breathed in the cool fresh air, relieved to be topside and free from Trollmarket. The night still promised to be a long one, but at least, Walter thought, their errand would grant him a moments reprieve from the tension between himself and Jim. Retrieving Barbara's car wasn't a difficult task and things were marginally less awkward between himself and Miss Nuñez. He finally felt his shoulders relax.

Claire broke the silence, “So. I take it it was you who convinced Jim to lie to Toby and I today about your grand weekend plans with Angor Rot.” Her tone, while polite, spoke volumes on exactly how she felt about that.

Then again, maybe not.

Lord, had waking up in the Lake kitchen to Jim waving a sock in his face only been _this_ morning?! It felt more like a week ago...

“I don’t recall Jim lying per say, if I’m not mistaken, you had your own designated tasks to attend,” Walter replied diplomatically, his breath pluming slightly in the air.

“A lie by omission, is still a lie,” Claire replied coolly.

“I do believe the intent was to keep yourself and Domzalski out of harms way, it was hardly done out of any kind of malice on Jim’s part. Shall we?” Walter asked, gesturing towards the Lake house with his good hand and gracelessly changing the subject.

If her face was anything to go by, Walter’s reply, however, was not the comfort to Miss Nuñez that he’d thought it would be. _Interesting..._ had Young Atlas been making a habit of shouldering more than his fair share of the ‘teamwork’ of late?

Walter thought of Barbara then, run ragged by one too many shifts. No, it wouldn’t really surprise him if the apple had failed to fall far from that excessively philanthropic tree. But that it was a trait that was apparently now causing discord between the teens was a notable tidbit none the less.

Claire, meanwhile, was taking in the sight of the front door hanging off it’s top hinge, crookedly jammed in it’s frame, and the handle of the huge broad axe visibly protruding from it.

Brown eyes flicked between the door and Walter’s arm. She pursed her lips. "Guess well be portaling in after all. Jim said it’s a bit of a mess? Where’s the safest place for us to come through at?” Claire asked, interrupting his thoughts.

Walter made to speak but paused, unsure. That was actually a good question. If memory served, the stairs were blocked by a fallen bookcase. The dinning room? Destroyed by that blue oaf of a watchdog, Draal, after Barbara maced the creature and he was knocked out cold [a memory Walter would forever cherish]. So that was also out. Kitchen? Pretty sure he’d glimpsed the fridge blocking the back door. Living room was right out since it was littered with various spearheads, the location of each, particularly the pointy ends, was probably vital when one was considering magically jumping into that space. Upstairs landing risked that the flame thrower was still active...

Claire’s eyebrows climbed higher the longer Strickler’s silence prolonged.

“Mmm, I do believe the hallway, by the basement door, is relatively safe? -But only there, exactly. Can you manage that?”

The girl gave a curt nod, focusing on her shadow staff. It took a bit of effort on her part, her brows furrowed in concentration, but she managed it in short time.

“Holy guacamole,” Claire said, upon seeing the state of the inside. It was still dark inside, the fuse box still magically blown, but even in the dim yellow-grey lighting provided by the street lamp outside it was clear that the inside was a disaster.

“Quite,” came Walter’s dry reply.

Strickler straightened his jacket and pompously stepped forward, businesslike. He managed a single step before immediately stumbling over one of the books that had scattered across the floor.

 _Blasted human vision._ The changeling righted himself and closed his eyes. When he opened them again they flashed yellow in the dark. A small amount of trepidation flitted through him. Revealing his non human aspects in front of one of his students still felt a tad strange.

“Quicker in the dark with keener eyes,” he explained.

Claire said nothing.

Right.

Seeing clearly now, Strickler easily plodded his way through the odd mishmash of home furnishings and scattered weapons to the coat-rack that allegedly held Barbara’s purse. Amazingly, there it was, hanging almost perkily among the mess, completely unscathed no less.

Sending a quick, whispered plea for forgiveness into the ether for the minor invasion of privacy, Walter popped the clasp and began delicately rummaging through Barbara’s things in search of her keys. It was a small transgression compared to Walter’s existing score card, but when one’s card was full of major dark marks one arguably didn’t have much wiggle room left for additional minor ones.

“Ahaa, gottcha,” he said palming the keys in his hand.

“You know... you still haven’t apologized to _me,_ ” came Claire’s quiet voice from behind him, “or I suppose, you’ve already forgotten?”

From over his shoulder, Walter could only give her a bland look, not sure for which transgression he was now being called out on.

“Ohmygod you have!” Claire cried.

“Forgive me but my list of sins is rather long tonight,” he replied dryly.

“For my _brother_. You know? The one you helped orchestrate the _kidnapping_ and _replacement_ of?!”

 _Oh_. Walter winced. Had he thought this little errand was going to be a reprieve? His brain must have been truly addled by the binding spell’s severance.

Strickler sighed. “Miss Nuñez, I don't expect you to understand, but I didn’t have much choice. And he’s been kept entirely safe and healthy,” he added trying for delicacy and failing spectacularly.

Claire visibly bristled. “That is _not_ how you pronounce, _‘I’m sorry’_ ,” she said with venom.

A prickle of ire burned through Walter at her tone. He was growing a tad weary of the profuse amount of guilt and groveling he’d suffered in the last 24 hours.

“There isn’t another way for changelings,” he snapped, temper flaring. “No other way. All I want, for myself, for any of my kind, is a life. A right to a life. A home. Basic respect. Is that so much to ask?” Changelings were ostracized in every direction. He’d been so painfully close to altering everything for them. With Bular dead, the rest of troll kind could have kept their petty, subterranean lives. Topside could have been _theirs_ , the sunlight could have belonged to the changelings. If only Jim wasn't so damn hellbent on rescuing the familiars....

“At the expense of my brother?!” Claire scoffed, “Yes! Is Enrique not owed those rights too? You stole him away to be magically used,” her burning eyes narrowed, “you only did to him what someone else did to _you_. How is that fair?”

That last one hit Strickler like an ice-y shard to the gut, snatching his breath and snuffing his fire. The depth of which it stabbed him was enough so that it penetrated the silica of his stone hide beneath his borrowed human self. The yellow glow of his eyes flared for a heartbeat then, blinking rapidly, faded back to human. At a loss for words, Walter could only clutch at the purse still in his hand.

From the mouths of babes indeed.

Walter swallowed audibly. “I didn’t say it was _fair_ , Miss Nuñez,” he whispered hoarsely.

“I-,” he opened his mouth to say more but the words caught in his throat. The thumb of his good hand was rubbing upset circles into the nap of the fabric of Barbara’s purse. He looked down, realizing what he was doing and blanched at the sight of it in his hands. Reverently, he dusted it off, smoothing the fabric back into place before gently hanging the bag back on it’s hook on the coat rack.

That... that wasn’t fair... he hadn’t chosen to be this way... to have to rely on... he only, he was doing the best that he could... it wasn’t the same... surely... he hadn’t...

_Waltolomew giggled up at him from the surface of the bathroom mirror in his flat._

The Eye burned accusingly in his blazer pocket.

A cold sting bit into his hand. Looking down he realized that he was clenching the car key’s in his fist so tight that they were threatening to cut into his palm. Swallowing again, he composed himself, tugged at his blazer then turned back to the girl.

Walter was suddenly hellishly tired.

“I’m sorry Miss Nu- Claire. I _am_ sorry.” He wasn’t sorry that his actions had allowed for another changeling to be free of the Darklands. Even if it had ended up being that vulgar imp, NotEnrique. But he was, surprisingly, genuinely sorry that he’d hurt his past student in the process.

Claire was quiet, staring at him hard as if assessing the honesty of his words. Still looking upset she eventually relented, nodding softly. “I suppose, if there’s any silver lining to this, at least NotEnrique got to be free,” she said, surprising her teacher by voicing his exact sentiments.

“Yes...,” Walter said softly, taken aback. No _troll_ Trollhunter would have ever seen it that way....

After a moment Claire cleared her throat a little awkwardly, “Well... do you have them?”

“What?” he asked, confused, still unnerved.

“The keys?”

“Ah. Yes.” He jangled the keyring awkwardly in his hand as evidence.

“Great. Then lets ge-EEeep!” Claire’s foot suddenly went shooting out from under, having slipped on a wayward piece of paper on the ground. She saved herself at the last second by slamming her shadow staff into the ground like a crutch. “Uhg!” she scoffed angrily while righting herself. Looking distastefully around at the state of the house the ire on her face morphed into concern.

“What’s wrong?” Walter asked, trying to divert her attention away from the fact that he’d started as if to catch her.

“It’s just- it’s already nearing 11pm, Jim still has to fight Angor Rot, and by whatever time that’s done,” she said, the words spilling out faster, “assuming there aren’t any more problems after, he’ll have to race back here to clean up everything before Dr. Lake wakes up.” She sighed, “There’s not even a sofa for him to sit on for a second just to catch his breath first....”

“Miss Nuñez... I’m afraid we really don’t have the time...,” Walter hedged.

“I know, I know, Angor Rot... I just...,” Delicately, she picked up one of the picture frames from the floor and affixed it back to it’s place on the wall. An adorable, gap toothed, baby faced Jim in the candle light glow of a birthday cake smiled out at them.

“It’s... not so bad...,” Walter blatantly lied.

Baby faced, birthday-boy, Jim plummeted back to the ground with a loud glass crunch.

The two onlookers flinched in unison.

“Er, surly Barbara will be understanding, in the event that Jim can’t get this all cleaned up in time... once he explains everything to her?” said Walter.

“Yeah... I guess, I just... It’s a lot for her to take in under normal circumstance, you know? The Trollhunter stuff, I mean. But now, it wont just be the Trollhunter stuff, it will be Trollhunter stuff and also she-was-almost-murdered-by-an-assassin aND now has magical amnesia on top of which her home looks like a _bomb_ went off and -and also... _you know_...,” she looked pointedly at him then quickly away, her cheeks colouring. 

Ah. Him. Them. Their... ‘ _relationship_ ’. Yes, he knew.

Walter was quiet. _Jim was right_ , he thought miserably. He shouldn’t have bound Barbara to himself. He should have pocketed that damned totem when he’d hesitated over her cup of tea that day and then he could have just _let_ Angor do him in without consequence.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Walter let free a loud and painfully exasperated sigh, “Give me your phone,” he said dully.

“What? Why?”

“Just-” he waved his hand at her impatiently, “I’m going to try and fix it. Emphasis on _try._ ”

Suspicion etched all over Claire’s face she reluctantly handed over her device, watching Strickler carefully as he took it.

Walter punched in a number from memory. There was a chance. An exceedingly slim chance....

After he’d fled Angor Rot, and before led-footing it to Jim’s, he’d first tried to call the Janus Order for backup, only to have Otto, the spineless ingrate, laugh at him from the other end of line. The other changeling had wished him the, ‘best of luck’, promising flowers for Walter’s funeral before promptly hanging up.

Walter wasn’t sure -there was a chance that Otto hadn’t told the goblins off yet, they might not yet know [or understand] that Strickler’s orders were no longer to be followed. Otto always was a bit slow when it came to managing Order affairs. It was one of a few weaknesses that had kept him in second chair all these years.

The line picked up on the first ring.

“Waka chaaah.”

“It’s me.”

“Cha-wah?”

“I’m at the Lake house. Get over here now.”

“Waka,” A noise of assent.

The line went dead. Ha- _haa._ Success.

"Goblins?!" Clair asked, having heard the telltale tongue on the other end. “Why -wait- how did you train goblins to use a phone? _What's their data usage like?!”_

 _Don’t_ ask, please.” It was a headache just to think about. "And it's disabled. _Obviously._

“You don’t have a reference of what this place used to look like do you, a picture on your phone perhaps?” Walter asked.

“I might, yeah...”

“Perfect.”

Eight minutes later and Claire was looking exceedingly apprehensive as a quartet of goblins scuttled around inside the Lake house, trying to make the interior match the photo on Claire’s phone, [a selfie of herself and Jim in the Lake living room] that Walter had had to point and yell at at least three times before the message had gotten across to the creatures.

It had originally been a quintet but one of the lot had come in via the upstairs bathroom window only to confirm that the flamethrower _was_ in fact, still active. Never mind, four was enough.

“Uhhhhhhh...” Claire’s eye’s followed one of Doctor Lakes vases as it went flying through the air.

“Right then, off we go Miss Nuñez.”

“Mmm... are you sure that this is- ” she was cut off by a large clatter coming from the kitchen.

Pointedly not looking in the direction of the noise, Walter said, “This is the best I can do and, lets be honest, it’s not like they can make it worse.” Another crash. Walter’s lips pressed into a thin line, “By much.”

It was plainly written on Claire’s face that she believed that this was in fact, very much _not_ true but she relented with a silent promise to make it up to Jim knowing that time was still of the essence.

With some of the debris cleared away they were able to wrench the front door open juuust wide enough to squeeze back out into the night.

Climbing into Barbara’s car they finally headed back for the canals.

They drove in silence. Walter drummed his fingers against the steering wheel. The drive wasn’t a long one. He considered Miss Nuñez, sat in the passenger seat, from the corner of his eye. If he wanted to know... this was probably his last chance to ask... Claire being more amenable to telling him than Jim....

“How _did_ he manage to steal it? Angor’s ring? Jim, I mean.”

Claire pursed her lips in thought, carefully weighing the pros and cons of revealing the truth to Strickler. A passing streetlight momentarily bathed her face in a yellow glow. “Kairosect,” she said plainly after a while. It’s three allotted uses were already used up so she figured there was no harm in bragging a bit.

“You found it?! Wher- Ahh. Gatto’s Keep...”

“Why am I not surprised you somehow know we went there,” Claire muttered mostly to herself.

“Wait,” Walter said, confused, connecting unspoken dots, “he went inside- H-how did he get out?”

At this, a smile tugged at Claire’s lips. “Diablo Maximus,” she whispered with menace.

Walter made strangled noise, “That worked?!” _On a volcano?!_

Wordlessly, she quirked a single brow at him. Evidently it had or they wouldn’t be here now.

Walter gave another astounded guffaw and then laughed so hard that he snorted. He clamped down on his lips trying to hold in his hysteria, his brows a heavy line over his eyes. That was -truly- the kind of simple, and quietly genius logic, that _only_ a child would come up with.

The years of training, the spy-work, lying, backstabbing and painstakingly careful emotional manipulation just to _find_ such an artifact. Let alone to steal it with one’s life still intact... And the boy had -he’d just, _walked up_ and- and thrown a single BURRITO into the literal face of the problem.

A burrito. A damn burrito had been the key to his undoing. The starting domino. The linchpin. The changeling had been almost murdered because of A b u r r i t o.

There was a twitch developing in Walter’s right eyebrow.

_Janus help me..._

They made the remainder of the trip back to the canal in silence, Walter deciding, after that, that he didn’t really want to ask anymore questions.

\-----

Arriving back at the canals they pulled over, parking near the end of the bridge that lay over the secret entrance of Trollmarket.

Jim, Toby, AAARRRGGHH!!! and Blinky were already outside and waiting. Gently cradled in the crook of AAARRRGGHH!!!’s arm was Barbara, still unconscious and carefully tucked into a blanket.

Claire hurriedly got out of the passenger seat and moved to sit in the back of the car where she helped guide AAARRRGGHH!!!’s hand as the tender troll delicately loaded the doctor into the vehicle. Once Doctor Lake was seated, Clair carefully arranged the magically sedated woman, adjusting her head so that her neck wasn’t at any ill-angle then buckled her into her seat. Lastly, she very carefully removed Barbara’s glasses and handed them to a notably silent Jim, who pocketed them for safe keeping.

Claire couldn’t tell what Jim’s face showed as only the back of his head was visible from her vantage point, but Toby who faced them both looked up at Jim with open concern. He playfully bumped his fist against his best friend’s shoulder, “We’ll keep prepping things here! Got your back Jimbo, no need to worry! Doctor L’s a strong lady- she knows Krav-Maga,” Toby said brightly, making unrelated karate-chop slices though the air with his hands, “She’ll bounce back pronto!”

Some of the visible tension in Jim’s shoulders eased up marginally, “Heh, thanks Tobes. Be back as quick as we can.”

“Pffft, what’s the rush? I can hold down the fort!” Toby said flexing his muscle-light arms with great exaggeration.

“Mmm, help Wingman, hold fort,” grumbled AAARRRGGHH!!!.

“Quite right, one battle at a time Master Jim. Although a measure of haste would be deeply appreciated as the well being of all our livelihoods _is_ on the line,” Blinky said matter-of-fact.

“ _Dude_ ,” Toby softly chastised the blue troll’s bluntness.

Jim laughed more earnestly as he buckled himself into the passenger seat, “Thanks guys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn’t recall if Claire actually ever got an apology or not from Strickler before he disappeared? [Let me know if I’m wrong] but I thought it would be an interesting/ deserving scene...


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barb finally makes it to the hospital.

Arcadia Oaks Hospital stood sentinel-like against the night, quiet, stalwart, and cutting a crisp silhouette against the dark, star-filled sky. The building's brightly lit exterior loomed through the car's windows, its pale reflection sweeping over the faces of the passengers sat inside as they drove up to the main complex in Doctor Lake's car.

From behind the steering wheel the changeling flicked his gaze between the imposing building and the teen sat in the passenger seat next to him. “How do you want to do this? Did you want -that is, I could carry her inside?” Walter offered somewhat nervously.

“You have one arm,” came Jim’s pointedly dry reply. It wasn’t actually spoken aloud but the word, _‘idiot’,_ non-verbally punctuated the end of the sentence.

 _Damnit,_ Walter thought, his brain really was going... he’d actually forgotten for a second. “Oh. Yes, right.”

Jim valiantly abstained from rolling his eyes, “Park somewhere over there,” he said instead, pointing with one hand at the employee reserved area of the parking lot while his other hand reached for the vehicle's glove compartment. “That way she can easily find her car and make her way home once she’s cleared for release." His other hand rummaging around for a second before pulling his mom’s faded parking pass from the glove box and hanging it on the rear view mirror. "I’m going to run inside and grab a wheelchair to wheel her in with.”

Jim turned around for the umpteenth time to check on his mom and Clair, sat behind him, "Still good?" he asked.

Claire nodded, smiling gently at Jim from the dark of the backseat, "All good, she's still out cold." Beside her, Barbara Lake sat still unconscious, Claire's one hand carefully cradling the doctor's head so as to safeguard her neck from being jostled during the drive over. Not that there had been a great risk of such, Strickler, exceedingly wary of the same, and to the teens reluctant amusement, had driven as if anything over 10mph had promised certain death for the doctor. Given their snail's pace, It was a miracle that they'd managed to arrive at the hospital in the short amount of time that they had, their saving grace being that Arcadia was so small that they didn't have much distance to travel from the canals. "Vendel did say that it could still be a while until she wakes," Claire went on, reassuring Jim.

“Wouldn’t it be more prudent to pull up to the main entrance first, you get her out, _then_ I park? Easier for you if you’re closer to the door,” Walter cut in, trying not to feel useless and also prove that he did have _some_ still functioning grey matter.

Jim needed to considered the wisdom [or lack there of] in allowing Strickler to remain behind the wheel with the keys still in the ignition, while Claire and himself were occupied outside the vehicle, for only a heartbeat. “No,” the teen replied flatly, “easier if we park first -then you can help us get her out.” he suggested, his tone a tad sharp and overly sweet.

Walter wasn’t fooled for a second, “But Jim, I’ve only one arm,” he said petulantly, mimicking the boy’s own words.

“Perfect! You can hold the car door open for us,” Jim smartly shot back.

A smile twitched at the corner of Walter’s mouth.

Pulling at the steering wheel, Strickler gently coasted Barbara’s car into the designated employee area, opting for a spot at the edge of the lot that offered the most shadowy protection from any would-be onlookers. Owing to the late hour the lot was largely vacant, only a sparse handful of other vehicles sprinkled about, so chances that they'd be seen were slim, but still... Walter grimaced. Two minors and an injured adult man struggling with a clearly unconscious woman in a vacant parking lot in the middle of the night? Sure, that didn't look suspicious _at all._ Some nosey nobody calling in a police presence would just be the icing on the evening. _Why yes officer, I can_ absolutely _explain..._ Maybe he should start clocking security camera locations now, he thought, before remembering that he no longer had access to the resources of the Janus Order to run that kind of damage control.

Walter sighed, the keys jangling overly-bright in his palm as he sharply turned them in the ignition, ceasing the engine’s grumbling.

Trying to ease the tension, he turned to Jim. “Do you need an actual _adult_ present to get this wheelchair?” he asked, aiming for a gentle ribbing. The attempt at humor was apparently a hit and miss however as Jim suddenly appeared apprehensive.

“No. I- I think you should stay here. Out of sight.”

The abrupt change of Jim’s demeanour immediately put Walter on edge. Sensing that there was more to Young Atlas’ disquiet, Walter focused on him intently but held his silence, aiming to softly manipulate the boy into admitting what was wrong. It was amazing what would willingly spill out of the mouths of both guilty students and changelings alike when one simply waited, unspeaking. A simple yet long favoured tactic of Strickler’s during his time at both The Janus Order and Arcadia Oaks High.

Jim’s tongue darted out, nervously wetting his lips, “Look, I... I don’t want mom to know you were here," he rushed out, "and if any of her coworkers see you they might accidentally let it slip to her later -It will just make things _confusing_ for her....”

Walter frowned, _‘Confusing’? Upsetting perhaps... but ‘confusing’?_ Something about the choice of the wording... Walter froze, still staring at Jim, realization creeping in, “You’re not going to tell her.” It wasn’t a question. It wouldn’t really matter if Barbara knew that he was here or not, not if Jim planned to tell her everything again anyways. No, his presence was only a complication if the ‘truth’ was about to become _complicated._ “You’re going to let her memories stay forgotten.”

Jim said nothing. His silence was answer enough.

Sudden hurt on Barbara’s behalf lanced Walter, “How could you?! You promised her!” he exclaimed, trying to keep his voice down.

A disbelieving scoff from the passenger’s seat. “How could _I?!_ ” Jim bridled and spun on his former teacher then, “That’s fresh!” he vehemently hissed back. “You’re literally the reason I have to make this decision! How could you even ask me that after everything _you’ve_ done?!”

Strickler flushed with guilt, returning the scoff, indignant but floundering under the truth of the accusation, “That’s not -that's beside the point! You -It’s the last thing she asked of you!”

“Well if you’d done what I’d asked of _you_ and stayed away from her we coulda kept her out of this mess entirely," Jim shot back, struggling to keep his voice at whisper level.

“I’ve _always_ done my best to keep her out of it-”

Jim cut him off, “By enchanting her?! That’s a funny way of, ‘keeping her out of it’!”

“That was to keep _you_ in line-”

“Ohh that is _such_ bullshi-”

“Don’t you take that tone with me young m-”

“-only ever think of yourself-”

“-you don’t understand the complexities of The Long Game, your too young, too-”

“-old enough to know better than yo-”

“-If you hadn’t gone and _destroyed Angor’s ring_ -”

Claire coughed delicately in the backseat, halting the quickly escalating hissing match in the front. 

Red flushed up the back of Jim’s neck and ears, his eye’s suddenly riveted to an unseen spot out the front windshield. Walter’s own ears weren’t fairing much better. 

“I’m going to get some air,” Claire spoke calmly and quietly. “Whatever you decide, maybe _don’t_ over-complicate things by accidentally waking Dr. Lake up preemptively with your arguing,” she added, speaking carefully. Cool, night air swept in as she exited, the car and it’s remaining passengers rocking gently as she closed her door as quietly as she could manage.

The heavy silence in the car lingered, the only sound the soft ticking of the still cooling engine. Jim’s eyes remained riveted straight ahead.

Walter broke the quiet first, “You promised her you wouldn’t keep anything secret anymore. Jim... she _begged_ you.”

Jim’s hands clenched to white knuckle in his lap. An angry exhale huffed from his nose and he shook his head minutely back and forth as if at a loss.

“Look at what happened tonight. What almost happened. Look at her,” Jim whispered angrily gesturing at the rear-view mirror.

Almost unwillingly, Walter’s eyes were pulled to the Doctor’s reflection.

“We’re lucky she’s only _passed out_ right now,” Jim went on. To an unknowing eye Barbara appeared to be nothing more than sleeping peacefully in the backseat. “She could have _died_.”

The image of her sleeping form morphed into something darker and Walter flinched away from the reflection.

“It could have been _so_ much worse and you know it. What about next time?! You know there _will_ be a next time! Wal- Mr. Strickler,” Jim’s voice cracked, barely a whisper, “she’s my mom.” He paused, eyes still riveted straight ahead, swallowing dryly. “I can’t -she’s -we only have each other. _She’s my mom._ ”

There was a horrible, weighty pause as Young Atlas gathered himself. Walter’s good hand clenched painfully in his lap as the changeling furiously tried to ignore the unsettling feeling in his guts that the sound of Jim trying to conceal his sniffling as nothing more than casual, was causing in him.

After a second Jim cleared his throat, sighed, and then suddenly the armour settled itself back over his body -not literally, but spiritually, visible only to a discerning eye. The Trollhunter resumed speaking, voice clear and certain, “Frankly, it isn't your decision to make. But... If you ever genuinely cared about her or her safety at all, then you’ll know that I’m right in doing this.”

Walter made to speak assurances but Jim cut him off quickly, not wanting to encourage or be made to hear further proclamations of feelings for his mother. “Things are only going more dangerous from here on out. We both know that and I want to keep her away from it. Keep her safe.”

"Don't you think she deserves a little more credit, she handled herself reasonably well tonight..." spoke Walter. It was a half-hearted defense, he knew Jim was right but couldn't quite bring himself to acquiesce, knowing that it wasn't what Barbara wanted and that she couldn't currently speak for herself.

Jim grimaced, "I know exactly how strong she is and that's the exact problem. She literally didn't hesitate for a second tonight to go running after an _assassin_ with nothing but a _shovel!_ She'd be willingly up to her neck in troll nonsense in a heartbeat, no question!" he said, his voice a mix of exasperation and affection as he spoke of his mom. "But I'm facing _Gunmar_. I have to be 100% present if I'm going to stand any chance at all and I can't focus if she's in danger. You know this, that's why you targeted her in the first place," he added darkly.

Maybe the children, or at least one of the three, did understand the depths they tread, Walter thought belatedly. Claire’s hurt face, outside the Lake house flashed once more to mind. Truthfully, Strickler couldn’t even say that he was surprised by Young Atlas’ decision to resume shouldering his mantle alone, not really.

Walter deflated, his arm throbbed in its sling. Barbara didn’t want to see him either way, she’d made that much clear. Couldn’t even bring herself to meet his eyes when he’d tried to apologize, not that he could blame her.

_You’re the one thing I’m looking forward to forgetting._

Whether she remembered saying so or not he could respect that wish at least.

The weight of Stricklander’s accumulative years suddenly reared over him. He nodded, “I understand.”

“Do you? Do you understand? Because this will be it -the last time you see her. If you really want to help me keep her safe, keep her out of it, you’ll stay away from her. I can't have you accidentally triggering any of her memories.

“I’m gunna go get a wheelchair." Jim made to get out but paused, turned around and pointedly pulled the keys from the ignition. He paused however, one leg out his open door, fiddling with the keys in his hand, then turned half-way back to meet Walter’s eyes full on. Even in the dim lighting Jim’s eyes were a piercing blue. _So much like his mothers,_ Walter thought, but where hers evoked the warmer climes of the azure Aegean sea, her son’s we’re the startling, glacial grey-blues of the Northern Pacific. Two Lakes, but vastly different bodies of water.

Jim considered his teacher. The man, his enemy, had helped him this far... had helped his mom knowing that she wasn’t going to thank him for it... maybe... _-maybe-_ Strickler did know a little about the definition of, 'altruism'... deep... deep... like, really, _really_ deep down, Jim thought wryly.

“This is the last time you’ll be seeing her Mr. Strickler,” Jim reiterated softer now, holding the gaze of the teacher who was once his favourite. ‘Say your goodbyes now,’ were the words unspoken.

The car rocked gently once more, this time from Jim’s door closing, leaving Walter alone with Barbara in the back seat. This time, the silence was deafening.

Outside Jim spoke briefly to Claire before heading for the hospital's main entrance and disappearing inside. Claire politely remained outside, waiting some distance from the car, her shadow staff in hand.

Walter swallowed thickly. The back of his throat was suddenly sticky. He was almost afraid to turn around... he swallowed again. Maneuvering awkwardly around his blasted arm, he twisted around in the driver’s seat to look at the unconscious doctor sat behind him.

Barbara appeared peaceful in the shadowy interior of the car, sat upright, her head turned gently to the side. A slice of warm street light fell softly over a corner of her face and one shoulder, causing the hair that it touched to glow soft orange.

Walter looked. Just looked at all of her, trying to commit the vision to memory. The shape of her beautiful hands, rough but graceful; practiced healers hands. The elegant line of her neck, now free from the ugly, unnatural, purple gash. There was a strand of red come loose from her chignon. His arm twitched, longing to tuck it back behind her ear, but self loathing stayed his hand. His touch was neither desired nor deserved. The reason she was unconscious in the backseat was him after all.

_Time to stop pretending, old boy. The charade was fun while it lasted but your time in the sun is over. You don’t belong in this world. Be grateful that you even got a taste of it at all._

Laying on the stone slab inside the Heartstone, Barbara hadn’t wanted to even look at him, had turned away from him. Walter flinched at the memory, suddenly feeling guilty for looking at her now and forced himself to turn back around in his seat.

Strickler was wretchedly tired. His earlier musings in the Stronghold, of absconding with the last Triumbric Stone and somehow winning Barbara back felt deeply contemptible now. Especially in light of Claire’s cutting observations back inside the Lake house. He looked at his hand, again recalling that quiet coffee date. Why hang on to a hand that no one desired to hold anymore anyways?

It was time to face the music.

The best he could do now was attempt an exit as graceful as he could manage. Yes, if he was calling it quits for good, he may as well give the Eye of Gunmar to Jim, it wouldn't be of any use to himself now. And a kindness to Jim would be, by extension, a kindness to Barbara, would it not? Yes... that would make for a good parting gift.

He scrubbed his hand over his face, hand pausing over his mouth, eyes drawn once more to Barbara’s reflection in the rear view mirror as a sickly thought occurred. Barbara was going to believe that he’d left her like that tasteless, oaf she’d first married. _Twist the blade Stricklander, that’s what you do best._ Strategically, that was the cleanest route, hitting her pride would dissuade her from questioning his sudden disappearance. She was going to believe that he'd found her, _inadequate._ The hand over his mouth tightened it’s hold.

A tentative knock on the window made him spook, startling Walter from his reverie. Hurriedly, he scrubbed the palm of his hand over his eyes. The knock came again, more harried.

He cracked the door, “What?” His voice was rough, hoarse. He cleared his throat self-consciously. 

It was Claire. “I’m sorry Mr. Strickler,” she whispered in a hurry, “but there’s been a change of plans, we have to hide _now_.” She proffered a hand to help him out of the car. He took it, his self loathing somehow managing to ratchet up another notch at the sight of her kindness.

“Come on,” she urged, closing the driver’s door behind him.

“But Barbara’s still-”

Claire shook her head, ‘no’. “They’re coming out to get Dr. Lake now,” she whispered. “This is what Jim wants for her. You have to leave her be.”

Quickly she led him a handful of spaces away from where they’d parked, where they hid behind one of the few other vehicles in the lot, a garish, mustard-gold SUV. They crouched around the other side just as Jim came out the hospital entrance followed by a couple of hurrying RN’s toting a gurney.

Walter turned to Claire and quirked a single brow. _What happened?_

Wordlessly Claire held up her phone, showing him the string of most recent messages.

> Jim:
> 
> HIDE
> 
> GOT RECOGNZD
> 
> CMING OUT WTH COMPNY 

Ah. One of the staff must have recognized Jim as Barbara’s son.

The two watched wordlessly, peeking out from where they hid, as Barbara was carefully pulled from the vehicle and expertly loaded onto the gurney. Walter winced in sympathy as she was jostled slightly. _For the best_ , he thought. He’d had quiet misgivings as to how the two teens were going to safely pull the dead-weight Doctor from her car then load her into a wheelchair all without causing a scene or accidentally breaking her neck in the process. If it had been anyone else the prospect might have been comical.

And then, just like that, she was gone. Disappeared into the interior of the hospital, Jim towed along behind her, tucked under the arm of the colleague, guessing from their familiar stance, that had recognized him.

Walter sighed, straightening his protesting back and turned away, looking instead at the night sky. There was an almost callously excessive number of stars out tonight, he noted ruefully.

From the corner of her eye Claire watched Strickler carefully, not without a twinge of sympathy, and turned to her phone in attempt to create the illusion of granting her past teacher a measure of privacy.

Age old survival instincts were whispering in Strickler’s ear, that this was the prime moment for him to abscond into the night. Miss Nuñez was looking at her phone in her left hand, the Skathe-Hrün gripped carefully in her right. The stance was casual enough, however, Stricklander’s practiced eye noted that the girl had angled her body just so, so as to keep Strickler penned between her staff and the SUV they hid behind. Her head too, was tilted carefully so that her teacher remained in her periphery.

 _Clever girl._ Yes... perhaps not as naïve as feared. 

It might be tricky to evade Miss Nuñez with her Skathe-Hrün at hand, but she had been increasingly tired with each portal... There could be a window of opportunity....

_No. A graceful exit. At least help her son, you dolt. Even if you don’t really believe the children stand a chance, at least help give them the best chance they’ll get._

Still, he really didn’t want to risk being dragged back to Trollmarket, strung up in a cage like some ridiculous canary again. Maybe he could just slip the eye into Miss Nuñez’s pocket. _Or just hand the damned thing to her straight forward like, you silly paranoid creature._

“Jim says, they’re checking she doesn’t have a concussion or any other injury,” Claire said, breaking the ambient silence of the parking lot, “I think he’s told them she had a fainting spell. Apparently, it’s quiet in there tonight, so it shouldn’t be too long of a wait, but he’ll let us know if she’s okay or not soon.”

 _If_ she’s okay. _Dammit._ Walter pinched the bridge of his nose then rubbed at his eyes. He couldn’t make himself leave without knowing if Barbara was alright. Which Jim full well knew. Walter’s lips twitched with amusement. _Clever boy too._

They made an admirably strong pair, for one’s so young. Maybe... just maybe... they stood a sliver of a chance. Dare he believe such an outlandish thing?

Behind Claire, Walter spotted a shabby, glowing, ‘DUNKIN’ DONUTS’ sign that stood strategically across the street from the hospital’s staff parking lot. Sugar. Caffeine. _Tea._ Not Walter’s accustomed caliber of cuisine but in this exhausted instance, the run down establishment appeared divine. Gods bless the humans and their distasteful desire for 24/7 available consumerism.

“Come along then Miss Nuñez,” Walter said nodding in the direction of the aggressively cheerful orange and pink sign, “we can at least sit down and get a bite to eat while you pretend not to babysit me. My treat.”

“If this is your way of apologizing to me, know that you owe me like 30 doughnuts _minimum_ ,” she said, but her shoulder’s relaxed marginally and a small smile graced her face.

The changeling smiled softly in return. “Noted, Miss Nuñez.”

_\--_

The wait was around 35 minutes. True to her word, Miss Nuñez ordered an entire box of an assorted dozen, to be boxed and bagged, before ordering for herself. “For Jim and Toby,” she’d stated, saying that Walter owed them too. Walter had a sudden flashback then, of Mr. Domzalski charging him, screaming, “RULE NUMBER THREE!” and didn’t believe that Claire’s proclamation was strictly accurate but wisely said nothing.

Conversation was otherwise sparse due to fatigue, focus primarily on eating, but the student and teacher shared a companionable, unspoken agreement that this was preferable to attempting small talk.

Eventually, after glancing at her phone, Claire rose quietly from their table, signaling Jim’s approach. Sure enough, a glance outside revealed a lone, lanky figure, made dark by the sparse lighting of the parking lot, making his way towards them. Wordlessly they cleaned up and met Jim outside.

Jim was weary looking, shoulders hunched protectively inward. The early, bluish, under-eye bruising of sleeplessness was made more prominent and his face washed a sickly pallor by the glow of the stark florescent DUNKIN’ lighting.

“How is she?” Walter hedged. This was it. He’d confirm that Barbara was well, hand them the damned eye, then leave. 

Jim was nodding wordlessly, not looking into Walter’s eyes, then his brow got a pinched look and he quickly turned away. Jim’s right arm came up in a gesture from behind that looked dangerously as if he was wiping at his eyes.

Walter’s mouth ran dry. Surely she wasn’t- she’d appeared to be fine- he’d thought the check-over was largely pretense-

Jim was still facing away from Walter. He cleared his throat, his head bobbing, “She’s, yeah, she’s fine. She’s awake now. Spoke a little. It’s as Vendel said; she doesn’t remember anything. She thinks- I told her- that she passed out. Hit her head.” He cleared his throat again, “They’re keeping her over night, so she can rest, but she’s got the green light otherwise.”

Walter released the breath he’d been holding. _Good._ “Well, then-,” he made to reach for the Eye in the interior breast pocket of his blazer, “-that’s... that’s good then, if that’s-”

Jim turned abruptly then and Walter was once more confronted by Pacific waters.

“Would you hold my hand a moment please?”

Walter blinked. So taken aback by the sudden and innocuous sounding request he, [rather stupidly, he thought immediately after] did exactly as asked, and placed his good hand in Jim’s. It was warm and soft, but calloused early for his age by hours of sword practice.

Jim’s blue eyes gazed guilelessly into Walter’s, the boy’s other hand coming up as if to hold Walter’s in both of his own.

Had Young Atlas been more severely affected by his mother’s close call than Walter had realized? He was, after all, essentially still a child...

For a horrifying micro-second Walter had misgivings of parental stirrings, fluttering in his sternum.

And then Jim’s other hand closed vise-like around his wrist.

“Now.” Jim called calmly.

There was a flicker of purple in Walter’s periphery. “Oh you sneaky, little-”

Claire’s shadow-portal closed over them all.

The dreary hospital parking lot morphed into violet and inky black then morphed again into the now familiar, luminous cacophony of neon and fluorescent geodes.

“Oh Goody. Back in Troll-Market. _Hurrah._ ” Walter said with snide. “So happy to see your time rehearsing with Ms. Janeth has paid off.”

Jim rolled his eyes and flung Walter’s hand back at him, walking away, “You owe me for like, _forever_ , for this whole mess tonight and we still have to faucet Angor’s eye.”

Walter ‘tsked’ but said nothing more. Unconsciously he rubbed the pads of his fingers together, his hand still tingling from the warmth of Jim’s. Realizing what he was doing, Walter hurriedly wiped his palm on his blazer then stuffed his hand into his pocket, forcibly electing to instead focus on the changeling-unfriendly glares he was once more receiving from the denizens of Trollmarket.

As if sensing his disquiet, and without glancing back, Jim loudly proclaimed, “Nobody touch him! I still need him to defeat Gunmar! You can have him after that, but ONLY if _I_ say so.”

Walter’s lips twitched and he trailed after Jim. The boy was going to be alright.

_\--_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s fin! From here on we jump back into canon, Walter and Jim preparing Angor's eye, then Jim escorting Walter to the gyre station where he gives Jim Gunmar’s eye.
> 
> I find ep24-26 interesting because of the way Walter & Jim's relationship drastically changes. Walter goes from wanting to kill Jim to prevent him freeing the familiars to accepting it then actively helping him do it -I wanted to flush out the process of that change more, the emotions driving it. So I hope that that came across successfully and that you enjoyed reading this soft au.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> 'Music to drown by' is a line from the film, 'Titanic', which was based on the book ‘A Night to Remember’ by Walter Lord, and of which Jonathan Hyde, who voices Walter Strickler, was in. The line is delivered just as the boat is sinking - in this case the sinking ship being Walter/Barbara.
> 
> And since this is spin off fic of the TH ep ‘A Night To Remember’, I thought that I was being tremendously clever by titling this so -there you have it. I hate titling fics lmao.


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